By Nathaniel Bellows
live life as a stranger. Disappear
into frequent invention, depending
on the district, wherever you get off
the train. For a night, take the name
of the person who'd say yes to that
offer, that overture, the invitation to
kiss that mouth, sit on that lap. Assume
the name of whoever has the skill to
slip from the warm side of the sleeping
stranger, dress in the hallway of the
hotel. This is a city where people
know the price of everything, and
know that some of the best things
still come free. In one guise: shed
all that shame. In another: flaunt the
plumage you've never allowed
yourself to leverage. Danger will
always be outweighed by education,
even if conjured by a lie. Remember:
go home while it's still dark. Don't
invite anyone back. And, once inside,
take off the mask. These inventions
are the art of a kind of citizenship,
and they do not last. In the end, it
might mean nothing beyond further
fortifying the walls, crystallizing
the questioned, tested autonomy,
ratifying the fact that nothing will be
as secret, as satisfying, as the work
you do alone in your room.
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We had another 90something degree day, which is not a temperature in which I function very well. Adam went out to lunch with my father while I did some shopping, the most interesting of which was at AC Moore which is liquidating one brand of beads so I got some very sparkly ones very inexpensively. The bunnies appeared to be weathering the heat better than I did despite their fur coats.
After an afternoon of soccer and a grand slam by the Orioles (who won, as did the Nats), I had had enough sports and forced Paul -- who brought home The Lego Movie on Blu-Ray -- to watch Cruel Intentions 2, thinking, "It has Amy Adams, how bad can it be?" (Answer: TERRIBLE.) This week's John Oliver was much better! Here are animals at Homestead Farm, some domesticated, some by the pond:
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